


What's My Reputation?

by indi_indecisive



Category: Borderlands, Tales from the Borderlands - Fandom
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-26
Updated: 2015-05-26
Packaged: 2018-04-01 10:51:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4016983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indi_indecisive/pseuds/indi_indecisive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Idea: everyone meets through an online rpg au</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Righteously Hauling Ass

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CommanderMerone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CommanderMerone/gifts).



The dark blue walls, where the teenage male currently found himself squinting in confusion at his monitor, were painted to replicate the vastness of space, and currently found themselves adorned with an assortment of posters he would most definitely be embarrassed about; but the walls had often relaxed him on nights when sleep would refuse to come, and he was left to his own devices, or rather giving him dreams with no boundaries on nights he could sleep. 

Currently, the teenager named Rhys leaned forwards in his charcoal colored chair, it used to be a comfortable spot when he played games. Now, his unquenchable urge to sink into the confines of the chair was just considered a distraction as Rhys' fingers tapped vigorously across the worn-out keyboard; his face screwing up into one of complete distress as the fight was quickly pulled out of his favor. In desperation he clicked on his computer mouse to escape the fight, releasing his Righteous Shield and essentially hauling ass. "Oh come on...Screw you HJack69!!" He yelled out at the monitor, cursing against the opposing player, and slammed his fist on the desk; sending pens, pencils, and the comforter that had once been situated on his shoulders to the floor. 

"Oh come on! Come on! That is absolutely not fair...He can't just- I worked so hard! He's max level why would he...Oh my god!" Rhys groaned in detest, bringing his head down so his forehead rested on the edge of the desk. What exactly was the point in continuing playing if HJack69 was just going to bother him?

Rhys didn't bother in raising his head for several minutes, instead he closed his eyes and ran his left thumb across the space-bar methodically. Unfortunately, his sulk filled peace was interrupted by a soft whistle, which happened three times in the span of a minute, signalling he had multiple notifications. Raising his head, he squinted against the bright monitor light to read who had messaged him.

[1 New Message From User: HJack69]

[2 New Messages From User: EipsiLion]

Rhys' lips curled back into that of a scowl when mismatched eyes spotted the first message; cursor hovering over as he debated whether or not to read it. He really admired HJack69 (despite the hilarity of saying the username), but he couldn't even fathom what the message would say. HJack69 was notorious on the message boards for sending out taunting, insulting messages to the people he killed; whatever was in the message both excited and worried him.

Perhaps he'd answer it later.

For now, Rhys found himself focused on Yvette's, or rather EipsiLion messages; at least she was -somewhat- friendly towards him, her insults didn't ruin his self-esteem or degrade him...much. They talked so often he had become accustomed to her quirks. Smiling softly, he clicked on her messages after turning off his notifications:

[ EipsiLion: I see trying to impress the almighty hero didn't work in your favor.  
EipsiLion: You know, he started violating your corpse.   
ReeciesPieces: Oh ha ha. Very funny, much laugh.  
EipsiLion: No memes.  
EipsiLion: ....Anyways, I captured your death, think we'd get money if we sold it? The rare, wild HJack69 in action-- creeps like /you/ pay for that sorta thing.  
ReeciesPieces: Me? A creep? Offense given and taken. Also please don't, I do //not// need my humiliating death being viewed. //Please//  
EipsiLion: it's funny though,  and with the extra money I could buy an expensive meal. Do you want me to starve?  
ReeciesPieces: hahahaha do you only care about food? What about me and my feelings? You didn't get pwned like I did-- if anyone deserves expensive meals it's me.  
EipsiLion: Funny. Hey-- we still on for Saturday?  
ReeciesPieces: Can't do Saturday, Vaughn went to visit his mom. Sorry :(  
EipsiLion: Okay, little disappointing but I can handle. afk  

EipsiLion has logged off...]

"Aw, shit." Rhys cursed under his breath, fingers running through his hair in a fruitless attempt to replace the disheveled russet locks, eyes squinting against the brightness of the monitor to watch the growing number in the corner. During his pleasant conversation with Yvette he was spammed with messages from HJack69. "Alright, alright. I'm looking! I'm looking!" Uneasy, he clicked on the messages:

[ HJack69: HAHAHAHA- did you see how fast you died?!  
HJack69: HILARIOUS  
HJack69: You had some pretty lame shit, though. Not even worth that much  
HJack69: Hey, hey come on you ignoring me?  
HJack69: I literally see you online, come on kiddo don't get butt hurt.  
HJack69: Kiddo  
HJack69: Pumpkin ]

Rhys let out a groan of annoyance, bringing a hand to rub at his face. Stubbly.

[ ReeciesPieces: You sold my stuff??  
HJack69: ....  
HJack69: oh now you respond. "you sold my stuff??"  
HJack69: HAHA  
HJack69: you'd think I'd sell that? I couldn't get Jack-shit for it!  
HJack69: HAHA get it? Jack-shit, cause my name is Jack.   
ReeciesPieces: can I have my equipment back?  
HJack69: I dunno, maybe.  
HJack69: why don't you say please, kiddo, don't you have any manners.  
ReeciesPieces: But you don't even need that equipment, I do.  
HJack69: .....  
ReeciesPieces: Can I have my things back, please?  
HJack69: ...  
HJack69: Alright kiddo, since you asked nicely.  
HJack69: You can get them tomorrow.  
ReeciesPieces: ...Thanks I guess?

HJack69 has logged off...]

For a brief moment, Rhys found himself tottering with his mouse, finding it incredibly difficult to locate and click the 'log out' button. 


	2. Hello Coffee, Goodbye Simplicity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, dedicated to the most patient and accepting person I have made friends with. :D

Timothy Lawrence sighed as he checked the clock, for what must had been the fifth time that evening, which hung on the wall adjacent from his relaxed position on the loveseat. It had been an exceptionally long day for him, but not as nearly as long as the night he was going to have if Jack continued to drag him into these games. It wasn't as if Timothy didn't enjoy playing the game, just more often than not Jack got very eccentric about the gameplay and...became an asshole.

Shivering, he pulled the blanket tighter around his body, a sharp wind blowing past the house, caressing the outside and electing a groan from the buildings foundation. Pouting as he burrowed further into the warmth of his blanket, he noticed the shadow of his counterpart entering the living room.

"Ready for the big game, pumpkin?! I have everything planned out, so you just have to follow my lead and look pretty...and heal me, of course. It'd be silly if you didn't." Well, someone was excited.

Timothy grumbled out in protest, sinking even deeper into the folds of the loveseat and blanket which covered him.

In truth, he had wanted tonight to be a simple night. He had it all planned out, a cup of coffee, a little evening television, then a shower and it was off to bed at a reasonable time. Timothy missed the simplicity that accompanied planning out his nights with delicacy; meeting Jack and sticking to Jack's chaotic schedule had been fun, but there was always going to be a want for simplicity. At least he thought so.

"Oh hey, come on, you promised me. You promised. You can't just bail on me, pumpkin?" There was a subtle hint of curiosity in his eyes as Jack ran thick fingers through chestnut brown hair, giving only a slight tug to signal he was stressing.

Timothy was more than inclined to help when the other appeared distressed and heart broken. Well, as heart broken as he could look about a video game, which was a lot. Reluctantly, Timothy pushed himself out of his little blanket nest, tucking the cloth between the cushions with care. He patted the loveseat, be back later buddy...

"I-I'm not bailing, I swear. Can I just...let me just make some coffee..?"  
He was hesitant to escape into the kitchen, glancing up at Jack and waiting to see if he wanted some too. Jack had gotten the hint, giving a nod and smile. Timothy returned the smile with one of his own, carefully making his way to the kitchen to their coffee.  

By comparison, their home was smaller than normal. Consisting of one bathroom, it was quite a hassle to get ready for work in the morning as Jack took most of the hot water and spent most of the time in there; one kitchen, Timothy really liked the tiling; the living room, sparsely decorated for now, a t.v, loveseat, and a recliner situated to the left of the loveseat; and finally their shared bedroom, with a two large desks taking up most of the space, a dresser, and a queen sized bed tucked away in the corner by the window.

It was cozy, a combination of both of their styles and preferences, and despite Jack's preference leaking into his own, it was still definitely a cozy home. Timothy liked it-- no, loved it.

With a collective sigh Timothy set out retrieving two mugs. One Hello-Kitty mug for himself ( A pinch of pink spread across his cheeks, Jack teased him often about it-- but he'd never let it go) and a plain black one for Jack. Someone really needed to do the dishes, it probably going to be him. Lame.

With a smile he set to work preparing the drinks; three spoonfuls of sugar and milk for him, and seven spoonfuls of sugar and no milk for Jack. How the man could handle seven spoonfuls Timothy would never know, but it did leave others lips with a sweet taste. With this thought in mind he carried his beloved coffee mug in his left hand, Jack's in his right, and headed towards the bedroom.

Jack had already taken his seat at his desk, the one closest to the bed, and had occupied himself by spinning in his chair as he waited for his companion. Timothy's lips twitched, only a little bit, though. "Here's your coffee...sugar lips."

"Thanks, pumpkin." The elder eagerly reached, stopping momentarily as if he was processing the meaning behind 'sugar lips'. There was a slight curl to his lips  and a chuckle escaping his throat as he accepted the mug. "Where's the yellow one? Couldn't you have grabbed me the yellow one? Also, nice work on sugar lips. Could have done better, though."

"But seriously couldn't you have grabbed me the yellow one?" He whined teasingly, taking small sips of his coffee, and after a few test sips he took a larger one without complaint.  "Mmm." He smacked his lips, already pleased when the overly-sweetened liquid reach his tongue. 

"The yellow one is, like, really dirty." Timothy commented, waving a hand to try and dismiss the conversation about cups. He took a seat, leaned back in his chair, and set his mug a little ways away from his computer for safety.

He logged on. "So you said you had everything planned out? Who are we...well who are you bullying today?" After confirming he had logged in, ready to send his character into the fantasy realm, he spun in his chair to see if Jack had done the same, using his heels to stop himself from going too far.

"It's not bullying, it's teaching people to stay out of my way and not to try some bullshit on us." Jack shot him a glare, like he should know and understand the concept as well as he himself did. "...Anyways, I have my eyes set on this one looser; ReeciesPieces."

Timothy found himself sinking into his chair. "Like...uh...like the candy?"

Jack snorted, attention slowly being focused onto laptop. "Yeah, funny isn't it? I'm really hoping the kids name actually rhythms with it, that'd he hilarious! Enough talk, get on the game and let's go." Before turning to face his computer, Timothy watched the other bounce in his chair like a 5 year old.

\----

Elbows propped on the desk, and his lips pressed against the warmth of the coffee mug, Timothy determined he didn't even have to be there for Jack. 'ReeciesPieces' had been obliterated in mere seconds, and he found himself listening to the clatter as Jack typed away to the offended user.

"Jack-"

"Hm?"

"It's late."

"...And?"

Timothy sighed softly, setting the coffee mug down, logging off, and closing his laptop with a bit more force than he wanted. "I'm...going to bed." To say he was annoyed was an understatement-- but he wouldn't retaliate.

"You want me to come to bed too, don't you?" The clattering had stopped, and Timothy turned to see Jack staring at him with a quizzical expression.

"A little bit, yeah." He nodded, looking over Jack with tired eyes. He yawned.

"Alright, give me a second pumpkin." Rising from his chair, the coffee mug long forgotten, Timothy adjusted himself and slipped into bed.

Not long after he gotten comfortable enough to slip into the warmth of sleep, the added weight of Jack onto the bed jolted him back into the waking world. With a low whine Timothy rolled over, reaching out to curl his fingers into the folds of Jack's night shirt, and pulled the man closer in order to bury his face in the others chest. 

Fingers ran slowly through his hair and Timothy fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not entirely sure how good this chapter is, it's a flip from what was happening on Jack's ( or rather Timothy's side ) during the first chapter.


	3. You Said Five Hours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Although rushed, I do believe this is the most intense chapter so far. I hope you enjoy!

The squelching of feet against the wet, oozing soil along the river bank reverberated across the empty expanse of land as she finished through with her morning hike. It was a routine she wasn't willing to give up, even if it had rained heavily the night before. She enjoyed walking close to the bank of the river, to watch the river fish swim idly upstream in order to feed in the shallows under the bridge; she'd stop on cobblestone bridge, unwrap her egg sandwich and enjoy the early morning light.

On this particular morning, however, the closer to the water she lingered, the thicker the mud became, and the harder it was to pull against the restraining confines of the glutinous mud. Each step was a battle against submerging herself, and she walked along her accustomed path until her shoes, and the cuffs of her socks were caked in mud. Yvette decided then that it was far better to walk in between the rivers bank and the expanse of road to her left, were the soil there was still sodden; but barely enough to restrain her, each step leaving behind an sparse indent of her shoe and the wet, satisfying 'plop' of her next step. 

Yvette, leisurely and nimble, trudged across the land, strides long, and practiced, heading back home before it started to rain again. Glancing up, a "Tch" escaping her lips as brown eyes studied the heavy, grey clouds overhead, and she felt the wind picking up around her, which felt as heavy as the clouds looked. As she quickened her pace, she shoved her hands into the pockets of her skirt; which Vaughn had found for her, she was incredibly thankful for the tiny man.

Five minutes passed before Yvette found herself entering the apartment building; the building itself had once been an old hotel, renovated sometime in the thirties, consisting of two stories with only thirty rooms, making it rather affordable. It wasn't a terribly awful place the live, the apartment building had a lovely setting only because it overlooked the woodlands she enjoyed hiking in. Holding her breath, she trudged through the lobby, and up the stairs to the second floor, cautiously making her way down the hall in fear she'd run into the landlord. If she received another lecture about bringing mud into the establishment by Mr. Tassiter again, she'd absolutely hit him again. It wasn't until she reached the sanctuary of her apartment that she let out a sigh of relief. 

Entering her bedroom, she looked briefly around the familiar area as she undressed; pressed against the window was a small desk with a laptop, and an assortment of other personal belongings, placed upon it; to the right of the desk, covering the wall, was an extensive collection of literature, an armchair; a bed in the middle of it all, and a closet adjacent to the mass collection of books. Though her job provided more than enough money, a lot of it went towards food, she didn't see the need to replace or even add more items to the room.

Yvette, now wearing her usual 'no one is here and no one will bother me' relaxation attire, consisting of a simple white t-shirt and shorts, grabbed the laptop and plopped onto the bed with a little less grace than expected.

She positioned herself on her stomach, using one of her fluffy pillows to prop herself up. Flipping open the laptop, she eagerly types in her login information, almost pleased with herself when she sees both Netflix and The Chat are still up.

A little over four hours, Yvette spent the time binge watching the latest season of her show; every so often re-positioning herself to get comfortable, pulling up the covers at one point, then throwing the covers off. At one point her head is resting on her arm, and she barely noticed The Chat's tab blinking to get her attention.

With a groaned, she questioned who dared communicating with her on a Saturday. "Really Rhys, don't you sleep?"

"It's nine in the morning." The voice that defended itself over very grainy audio was unmistakably Rhys, and Yvette smiled at the whine in his tone. "And since we're talking about sleeping, why aren't you sleeping?

"Like you said, it's nine in the morning."

"Don't you-!...ugh." Rhys hung his head in defeat, letting out a huff of displeasure. "-Alright, anyways."

"Anyways?"

"I was calling to ask if you were doing anything today-- because, you only live, I dunno, five hours away." His tongue felt incredibly thick in his mouth, running fingers through his hair. "-And I bought a bus ticket..."

The corners of her mouth tuned as her whole face showed the amusement of the moment. "Five hours? You'll be here just in time for lunch."

"Yeah, yeah. I think I would but I am so not-"

"You're paying." She interrupted, giving a little wave at her next statement. "Now hurry along and get on the bus before you miss it."

"See you in five hours, Yvette."

"Same to you, Reecies."

"Rude." Rhys stuck his tongue out, accompanied by a small wave in goodbye. Yvette watched the video cut off and sat for several moments thinking over what they could have for lunch; returning to her show shortly after.

\---

Precisely six hours and twenty-three minutes passed since the call, nothing significant had transpired, disregarding that Yvette periodically checked the time, as Rhys had a tendency to be imprecise about time.

Nevertheless, it felt bizarre that she had yet to receive a call at the sixth hour mark, or shortly after the five hour promise had been shattered.

When the call had ended, Rhys had forwarded the bus' information in a very lengthy message. It was always permissible to keep updates on the transportation Rhys took to arrive, it allowed Yvette to prepare. However, according to the website the bus had not reported in at it's first stop. Which was perplexing.

Yvette initially brushed it off as nothing more than Rhys giving her the wrong information, she wouldn't have put it past him to mistype the bus number. The knocking on the door allowed her to release a breath she was entirely unaware or holding in.

"Thank Go-" Her sentence falling far from finishing, Yvette straightened herself to a more professional composure at the sight of an unfamiliar man at her door; brown eyes trailing up to search for any identification.

"Excuse me, ma'am. My name is Mr. Jackson, I'm with the police department and I'm here to deliver a message to a...Yvette?" He sounded formal, underlying tones in his speech suggested the recent consumption of alcohol, and sadness.

"Yes, I am Yvette. Would you like to step inside?" Fingers dug into the handle of the door, opening the door slightly in offering."

"No, no thank you. You were listed as the emergency contact for a 21 year old man named Rhys, am I correct here ma'am?" Although Mr. Jackson rejected the offer of coming inside, he leaned against the doorway in a very unprofessional, tired manner.

"Yes, I should be."

"Well- I'm so sorry, but there's been an accident. Around 10:00 am today, the bus your friend Rhys was on...got into an accident. He was transferred to emergency room shortly after the accident was reported, and paramedics arrived, at 10:40. Unfortunately, I don't have anymore details." Mr. Jackson pulled out several wrinkled papers from his pocket.

"-This is the hospital he was taken to, as well as an overview of the accident."

Astonishingly, Yvette was able to take hold of the papers without wholly crushing the parchment. She gave a curt nod, discovering a refusal to cry. "Thank you, Mr. Jackson."

Whilst no smile passed Mr. Jackson's lips, as he began turning away and heading downstairs, Yvette heard an unmistakable pity filled apologize.

\---

Perhaps, somewhere beyond the numb feeling, Yvette knew she should have been crying. Yet, she couldn't even fathom the idea of crying during the 13 mile drive towards the hospital. Instead she focused on the road ahead, and nothing more.

What was wrong with her?

\---

The hospitals receptionist had told Yvette that Rhys was located at the third best trauma center there was to be found in the confusing maze of clinics.

Yvette scarcely distinguished any one doctor from the rush of white, or any one sound other than her own footsteps, focused rather on the pale blue of the nurse leading her to Rhys.

When she was first directed to his room, or rather a window in which to see Rhys' body; the first thing she noticed was not his form attached to an ungodly amount of tubing and machines, which gave him the appearance of more robot than man; the bandages which covered amost every inch of skin the hospital gown didn't; or the gnarled 'stump' that was once his right arm.

Perhaps it was the shock, but she could only comprehend how clean everything smelt, it was as if the floor had been washed with bleach moments ago, and the more Yvette stared at the mass of medical equipment that was her friend, the more likely that it was true.

Then there was the beeping of the machines, and the intercom calling a code blue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ma', please don't hit me.


	4. No One Cares About The Mailman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little rushed, and very short. As well, Hugo is significantly younger and going through his hair transplant and all.

Hugo Vasquez often found that there wasn't much he could do to entertain himself in the cramped confines of the Mailroom; except for fantasizing about literally anything or actually working, which entailed sorting executives mail and delivering, he preferred to do the former. He wasn't upset about his position, far from it actually, the pay was surprisingly plentiful and the humility, he believed, would be beneficial when he was promoted because he was definitely going to be promoted.

He knew a promotion was on the horizon. 

Hugo eagerly awaited the day he'd be given an office, maybe even a PA to do the most mundane of tasks, which he found himself currently doing.

Running a hand through black wisps of hair, smiling as he began sorting an increasingly large pile of mail; Hugo being incredibly happy that the hair treatment was going well, especially since in less than six months he had a decent amount of hair, although he began finding hair growing in rather "unusual" and new places. There was a lot of it as well, his once smooth skin now felt like a cactus in some places, and an animal in others.

He didn't mind it, though, he felt happier with it.

Hugo easily sorted through a days work of mail in little over three hours, there really wasn't that much mail today, so approximately 2/3's of his time he had spent daydreaming. He ran a thumb across his bottom lip, leg shaking rapidly up and down in a futile attempt to distract his bladder. Oh man, he had to take a wicked pee. He glanced at the cloak, frowning softly as he wondered if he could hold it in for another three hours. 

Absolutely not answered his bladder, as Hugo pushed back his chair, maneuvering his large body through the room as he hurriedly made his way to the company's public bathroom, Hugo could only imagine what the executive bathrooms were like...With a heavy sigh he pushed open the bathroom door, silently making his way to the farthermost bathroom stall as thick fingers worked to pull down his zipper. 

God- he couldn't stand using the urinals at work. Disgusting. He wished his co-workers understood the concept of pissing in the urinal and not around it.

Hugo pressed his back against the stall door, propping himself in a comfortable position as he pissed, even going so far as closing his eyes to enjoy the relief of being empty. He wondered if an enema felt the same, maybe he'd try it sometime. Mulling over his thoughts, he placed a hand gently on his protruding stomach, opening an eye lazily as he adjusted everything back into place, zipping up his pants. As he leaned forwards to flush the toilet, he thought that perhaps he should take Nakayama's offer on going to the gym. Not that Nakayama would be doing anything-- more there for moral support.

As he leaned forward, something scribbled on the paled yellow tiles, written in what appeared to be black sharpi, caught his eye, and his hand hovered over the flusher as he read it: "Hugo Vasquez, more like Huge-ass Fatquez."

Hugo frowned, his eyebrows scrunched together as he struggled to comprehend why anyone would write that about him, completely ignoring the fact that hardly anyone used this stall. In an unusual silence he pushed open the stall door and huriedly left the bathroom, returning to his office before someone saw him. No one ever noticed him on a daily basis- so who would write something like that? When did it get there? How long? Why?It had damaged his pride to an extent, to know people said things like that. He hurt from written words, and he really couldn't comprehend why. 

Hugo ran a hand across his swollen face, pushing back the tears and sweat he had been unaware of. Almost violently he grabbed his bag, which had been previously hung up on the wall hook next to his desk. He didn't really want to be at work anymore. 

Why should he finish the day, when no one cared about the mailman.


	5. To Paradise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Borders of Landcraft, aren't I clever? It's nerdy, and stupid and I love it.

There wasn’t much the sisters were able to do that they were also capable of doing, not with the way Felix watched over them; as if they were bombs moments from exploding. In reality they were far from bombs, but still the closest thing to it. A pair of children growing, always wanting something more than their seemingly “mundane” routine provided, they soon grew accustomed to the routine. They were most certainly not the richest family in their neighborhood, but they were plenty far from being the poorest; the family lived comfortably. Yet, there were moments where the sisters had wanted something more, and Felix had always done his best to get what they wanted.

One did not have to imagine the joy when Felix returned home, with the newest edition of Borders of Landcraft tucked away. In the moment, the pair hadn’t even thought to question where the game came from; it wasn’t even been on the shelves yet! 

They had something others didn’t have yet. For once, they were ahead and not behind! Seventeen year-old Sasha, nor did twenty two year-old Fiona notice how grey Felix’s hair became in little under two months, or how he had aged far beyond his years. Either they were too distracted by the game, or Felix was too good at hiding the bad.

It was most definitely the latter.

Over the course of two years, the sisters had worked together to become the most bad ass players in the game. Together, they were the two most deadly, high-tech rogues found on any server. With a little over 60 million in-game cash combined, custom made armor, and enough contracts to prevent and defend from any challenge, they were a team to be reckoned with. Their characters were at a respected level 80 and 82, Sasha refusing to speak how Fiona was always just two levels ahead of her, regretting letting Fiona start the game three minutes before she had. 

Of course, they hadn’t spent the last two years just playing the game. They had taken up an assortment of odd jobs in order to help Felix pay off their house and loans. From collecting aluminum cans, to conning men and women out of money. Fiona and Sasha did it all under Felix’s guidance, as it had been for the majority of their lives with their adoptive father. He was an essential part of their cons. At first he had planned and helped execute, until quite recently he had felt that they were ready to do things on their own. Though, he still played part in their latest ploy involving a twenty five year-old man named August. The plan was simple; Sasha would pretend to be his girlfriend, while Fiona assuming the role of traveling saleswomen, and together the two would sell August an assortment of “rare” items from lands beyond. 

In reality, those “rare items” were nothing more than pieces of scrap metal, combined together to create impressive looking trinkets, and painted pretty; courtesy of Felix. 

With their recurring con, they easily pulled in a little over $800 a week when the “foreign haul” was impressive enough for August to be interested and buy. Even on their more substandard hauls, they made an easy $200. $250 is Sasha gave him a kiss. Thankfully August was a moron, a moron with admittedly impressive resale skills. Still, it was a very dangerous game to play; neither sister never truly wanting to know what would happen if they were caught in their ruse. For little over a year they had been robbing the schmuck blind, accumulating a massive amount of cash they wouldn’t be able to return. One mistake, and everything would fall apart. 

 

Well, they wouldn’t be making any mistakes.

“Do you...do you think I should do it, Fi?” Sasha sounded uncharacteristically unsure of herself, her voice increasingly timid, and entirely unsure. Here she was was doubting herself, and Fiona was the only one she’d let know, though anyone could clearly see the doubt. Clearly shown by how her face fell, more solemn, as if she was recently scolded for eating the leftover sweets. 

“Oh my god- Are you kidding me right now, Sash? Please, please, tell me you’re not actually considering going on this date. If it is a date at all.” The eldest sibling groan in detest, clearly tired on how Sasha was clearly pretending to like this guy, but clearly starting to care on how he felt. Fiona believed the other shouldn’t be caring, because all he was was a pawn.

“Well I can’t exactly keep saying no, can I? What if he starts getting suspicious why his supposed girlfriend doesn’t go on dates with him?” Sasha countered with, expression changing from solemn to defensive. 

“Honestly, I’d hardly consider a night with him, at that little crappy bar he owns a date. If anything it’s the start of a horror movie. ‘One Night At Augusts’ or- or ‘Two Morons, One Bar’. Okay, well that last one sounds more like a porno. Please, don’t have sex with him.” 

The two siblings had tried suppressing their giggling, Fiona biting down on her bottom lip and Sasha hanging her head with disapproval at the poor joke. They may had been arguing moments ago, but the two still found themselves falling into a fit of hysterical laughter; it was stupidly funny, and had successfully broken the developing tension between them. “Like I’d- Like i’d ever.” Sasha commented, bringing a hand to wipe away the tears from the corner of her eyes. 

“Are you actually going?” Fiona questioned, who had previously been sitting on the edge of the dining room chair, leisurely leaned backwards as she -shamefully- eagerly awaited for one of Sasha’s specially grilled sandwiches. Both were thankful the conversation, and the laughter had not result in burnt bread. Sasha returned to her grilling, moving the cooking sandwich around mindlessly to prolong answering.

“I don’t know, it wouldn’t hurt going...right?”  
“It might kill several of your brain cells.”  
“Oh very funny, Fi.”  
“I know, I’m a real killer- Rawr.” She raised her hands up, clawing at the air briefly.  
Sasha snorted at her comment; she flipped the sandwich onto it’s lighter side, revealing the crispy, golden brown beneath. She stayed silent, listening to the familiar hissing and popping of the pan as the delectable fried. Giving the sandwich one final flip, Sasha grabbed Fiona’s favorite plate, an antique plate and the only surviving gift from their biological parents, before dropping the sandwich onto it. She moved over to the dining table, placing the plate in front of Fiona. “I think I’ll go….and you’re going too.” 

Fiona, although extremely eager to devour the sandwich, had learned her lesson from last time. Heated bread touching flesh wasn’t exactly the most pleasant feeling in the world, besides she had become distracted by her sister's sudden answer.

“I’m going?” Her mouth was wide open, gaping at the idea. “You do understand that it wouldn’t be a date if I showed up, right? 

“I know how a date works.” Sasha rolled her eyes, returning to the stove to make her own sandwich. “What I’m saying is; I’ll spend an hour doing this whole date thing, then you show up at the Purple Skag saying there’s an emergency.”

“So, what you’re actually wanting is for me to bail you out of this date.” She stated, gently prodding at her sandwich to see if it was cool. Not yet…

“Well, yeah. Obviously.” Already half-way done with cooking her own sandwich, preferring it a little less brown than how her sister liked it, she threw a glance back at said counterpart. “Besides, do you honestly think Felix wouldn’t have suggested the same thing?”

“Well, you are right. Felix definitely wouldn’t want his little girl going on a date.”  
“Oh shut up.”  
“Mmm.” Fiona may have stuffed the recently cooled down sandwich into her mouth. Oh god, it was delicious. She would pay for Sasha to start a restaurant which served only sandwiches,. 

“See? That wasn’t so hard.” Sasha mused, sitting opposite of Fiona at the dining table, setting her own plate down. She sat, watching Fiona happily chew. “So, you in?”

Fiona nodded, taking another large bite. “Yeafgh Iinm ningh.”

“Okay, well that’s not English. Please, don’t speak with your mouth full.” Sasha smiled fondly, taking a small bite of her own sandwich. “Anyways, August wants to have our date on Saturday, apparently he doesn’t get many customers then or something. I figure-” She takes another bite of the sandwich, taking her time to chew. “-I show up around 5pm, do whatever he has planned until you show up at 6 sharp and say your imaginary brother broke his arm or something.”

During Sasha’s spiel; Fiona worked on finishing her sandwich in three eager bites, and nodding to her plan. She swallowed, wiping the grease from her fingers onto her shirt, very lady-like.  
“Alright, 6 o'clock sharp then?”  
“You better be there, Fi. I’m counting on you.”  
“Have I ever let you down, Sash? Now eat your sandwich.”

By the time Saturday had approached, which was a meager three days from their sandwich conversation, Sasha had happily flipped her stance on going to not going several times. “Well maybe I shouldn’t go.” “August isn’t that bad, I should go.” “But what if he.” “No he wouldn’t.” “I’m going to stay.” “I’m going to go.” “Stay.” “Go.” “Stay.”

Fiona had grown dog-tired of all her flip-flopping, settling the argument with one final “You are going!”  
Sasha seemed more than relieved to have someone finally decide for her. 

Now dressed to not really impress, she wore a plain t-shirt, a weather worn brown jacket, and a pair of worn out cotton jeans, Sasha found herself slipping into the seat of an all too familiar Dodge Challenger Hellcat.

Sasha thought the car was seriously bad ass; with a supercharged 6.2-liter HEMI engine, rated at 527 kW and 881 N·m of torque, she would have done anything for the powerful muscle car. She practically drooled when she discovered the cars top speed of 320 km/h; how the engineers thought of the most brilliant idea to remove the inner driving light on the left front to allow better airflow resulting in more torque; how the wheel wells had to change to accommodate the 20-inch aluminum wheels; and not to mention how the Hellcat was equipped with two separate key fobs; use of the "black" fob limited the engine output to 500 horsepower, while the "red" fob will enable the full output capability. 

Whenever August felt like letting her drive the beast, he didn’t seem as much as an ass anymore. 

Even if she had previously wanted to stay home with Fiona and play Borders of Landcraft; getting into such a bad ass car, and the prospect of -possibly- manipulating the other into driving it again made her temporarily forget the previous urge. 

“You ready, Sasha?”  
She leaned across, lightly pecking the man's scruffy cheek. “Yeah, August, I’m ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did anyone appreciate the car talk? I know absolutely nothing about cars.

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to one of the nicest people I have every known. Also a list of the characters usernames for reference. 
> 
> Handsome Jack (HJack69 - Hunter lv. 100)  
> Timothy (TheDoppelganger - Priest lv. 90)  
> Vasquez (Star62Unknown - Death Knight lv. 37)  
> Yvette (EipsiLion - Druid lv. 57)  
> Vaughn (Money_Man - Warlock lv. 31)  
> Rhys (ReeciesPieces - Paladin lv. 43)  
> Sasha (Vagabond_Beta - Rogue lv. 80)  
> Fiona (Vagabond_Alpha - Rogue lv. 82)


End file.
